


Kill Processes or Delete Child

by empollard



Series: Kill Processes [1]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explosions, Hacking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Josh is such a cinnamon roll, M/M, Marcus is awesome, Possibly some smut later, Post-Canon, Sitara being both badass and motherly, Triggers, Wrench being Wrench, and still a badass hacker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10096898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empollard/pseuds/empollard
Summary: The past has a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. Particularly when you keep standing in front of it and flipping it off.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue to set the stage for our troubleshooting manual.

The night was crisp and he could see his breath as he walked the perimeter of the large, landscaped yard. The flare of a cigarette tip caught his attention as he rounded the corner—one of the guards near the back porch who shouldn’t be taking a cigarette break. He made a mental note to chew the man out when he returned to the house.

The only other light, apart from the half-moon in the sky occasionally breaking through the clouds, was a single window on the second floor where their current charge was probably working. The young Italian was some sort of brilliant software engineer, prone to working most of the night and sleeping much of the day. Philips had flown him in and set him up in one of his 3 private residences for the week to prevent distractions from some important deadline looming at BioTech, one of Philips’ many corporations. Their team had been put in place not just to protect the developer but to keep him from wandering off, since he apparently had a habit of claiming he was running to the corner store for some quick item only to disappear, showing up 2 days later in some random hotel room reeking of booze and sex.

Philips was shrewd enough to let the leash out so the young man could release his pent-up energy regularly but when it came down to the wire, his patience was non-existent. The developer was on lock-down and the security team was there to insure he stayed that way until the deadline was met.

The insistent buzzing of his private phone had him pulling the cell out of his pocket to see who might be calling him. Unusual, since only 3 people currently knew this number--his sister, Barty and Mars (the only people he trusted). Glancing at the caller id had him frowning, brows snapped together. Barty never called during an assignment...unless he’d found something to obsess over.

Swiping to answer, Trevor had barely said “Yeah” before he got an earful of angry voice punctuated with words like “fucking,” “sadistic,” and “bastards.” The other man’s Scottish burr was thick in his impassioned state. Trevor kept quiet, letting the turbulent words wash over him until he could hear the man’s speech start to slow a bit.

“Barty. Take a breath, man.” Trevor interrupted the tirade. “I can barely understand you as it is.”

He heard a little huff that might have been a frustrated laugh and then the sound of someone taking a deep breath. He could picture Barty rubbing his eyes as he tried to calm himself down a bit. Something was playing in the background; a movie, maybe. Trevor rifled through his memories, trying to recall what Barty’s assignment was this week but Barty’s response solved the mystery for him.

“Trev, what the hell did they do to this kid?” Barty’s accent was thankfully lighter. “He’s twitchy as fuck, doesn’t speak or, when he does, it’s a whisper and he won’t look at me. I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes are.”

 _Oh,_ **_that_ ** _assignment._ Trevor gave a heavy sigh. This was going to be a problem.

Bartholomew Campbell (and boy did he get harassed over that) was an excellent soldier and mercenary. They’d worked together off and on for years from legitimate military ops to mercenary jobs before they both ended up working for William Philips as part of his own private security force, PHISec (Philips Holdings, Inc. Security). Barty was ruthless and deadly, no family ties and never seemed to let pesky things like guilt or sentiment get in the way of completing a job. It wasn’t that the man had no feelings or was unable to care about anything. You could just never tell what he would care about. And, unfortunately for Trevor, he was frequently the one left having to clean up the mess when Barty went off on one of his obsessions. And _this_ was going to be one _huge_ problem if he didn’t manage to curtail it.

Trevor’s train of thought was interrupted with, “You remember that dog, when we were overseas? The one that practically pissed itself every time someone came near it?”

Trevor rolled his eyes, “Yep.” The fucking dog that almost ruined their op and got everyone killed. The epitome of everything that can go wrong when Barty decides to care.

“That’s what this reminds me of, Trev. I’m not even sure they feed him. He’s a scrawny little shit.”

“I don’t remember things ending well for that dog, Barty.” And he wasn’t lying. The dog had been killed. Bad enough that the whole op had almost been blown trying to get the critter somewhere safe but when it died, Barty had turned into one rage-fueled motherfucker. Which led to him doing some pretty stupid shit trying to get revenge. Over a fucking dog.

“This is different, Trevor. You know it is.”

“Yeah. The man you’re thinking about crossing could snap his fingers on the other side of the world and have you killed in a heartbeat. And then where’s that kid gonna be? That idea you’re toying with right now? It’s a really, really bad one.”

“How’d you do it. How did any of you do it?” Barty asked through gritted teeth.

“After I got home and showered off the…” _guilt_ , which he would never admit out loud, “...and showered, I contacted Reece and requested he never put me on that security detail again. And then I put it out of my mind completely.” At Barty’s growl, Trevor continued, “Vance, Jimmy, Lanie, Mars...all of them did the same. There are plenty of people who weren’t phased by it. Let them take turns with that one and do your best to forget about it.”

“I can’t do that,” came the whispered reply. There was a brief silence then, “I’m here for four more days, Trev. I’m sure I can figure something out.”

_Huge fucking problem._

* * *

 

_3 years later_

Trevor shoved the door open watching it bounce off the brick wall with a loud bang as he stalked angrily into the cool night air. A couple of deep breaths to try and clear the stench of the place from his nostrils and then he began a brisk circuit around the outside of the complex. It wasn’t unusual for Trevor to walk the yard, ostensibly to check building security but the truth was he needed to get out of the damn building at regular intervals or he was likely to lose it and do something that would’ve made Barty proud in one of his more obsessive moments.

The thought of Barty brought a tinge of sadness that Trevor quickly tamped down into the abyss that was probably once his soul. Slam the lid down quickly and hope it stays closed. Problem was that this particular assignment kept popping that lid back off. Memories of Barty, memories of the kid (he’d learned his name was Brandon, not that he wanted to know).  Even though he’d only spent one day with him, it was enough to dispel any doubts Trevor may have ever had about the type of man Philips was. This assignment just established that understanding more fully.

“Security,” as in “private security force,” apparently had a rather fluid meaning for Philips. Your average person might wonder why the multi-billionaire owner of a massive corporate group might need a “security” force that was capable of toppling the government in some small third world country, extracting information from an unwilling party, or quietly assassinating some key figure stupid enough to get in his way. William Philips was an incredibly powerful man, with impressive connections, both political and financial, in most major countries on most continents. His business wasn’t just business and he’d done more than his fair share of pulling strings in the background to set the stage properly for whatever venture he was investing in.

They all knew what they were getting into when they took the job. Even Barty had known, though he’d apparently forgotten towards the end there, cared a little too much. As Trevor rounded the corner of the building, he stepped over to one of the trees along the outside edge of the facility yard and leaned up against it with a deep sigh. He felt a bone-deep weariness starting to set in and scrubbed a hand over his face, thinking for the umpteenth time he needed to ask for reassignment.

The main facility for Biotech, the public front they showed everyone, was situated amongst a cluster of biotechnology companies just north of the San Francisco airport. A very sleek, modern facility all glass, steel and clean lines. Bright and airy and very different from the ugly side of the company that they hid out in the ass-end of nowhere surrounded by two electrified fences, barbed wire and a full rotation of guards. Philips was obsessive about protecting his secrets. Well that, and in an obvious violation of the National Research Act, the excessive security measures prevented their “volunteers” from escaping. Trevor didn’t give a shit about the various mercs, low-lifes and gang members that passed through but every once in awhile, Biotech would bring in some civilian that had probably never done anything worse than some minor moving violation. He didn’t know what exactly Biotech was researching and, frankly, didn’t want to know, but the security assignment here was an exercise in self-discipline already having to block out the sounds, smells and some of the visuals of what they did here. When you added in some poor schmuck from the suburbs who probably had a family and certainly had no experience in what was, essentially, torture, Trevor’s self-discipline usually ended up stretching to the point of breaking. He was definitely at the breaking point now.

Then all hell broke loose. A loud security alarm in the complex suddenly sounded insistently while both his company and private phones began clamoring for his attention. Glancing at both phones, Trevor quickly swiped answer on his private phone--Mars calling in the middle of whatever was going down meant he needed to give Trevor the heads up on something before Reece hit him up.

“You’ll never guess what happened, man,” Mars chuckled quietly. “The little one finally snapped, I guess. Gave a final grand Fuck You to his father and took off.”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean by Fuck You? What did he do?”

“Apparently he hacked into Daddy’s private system, stole as much data as he could take and then dropped a virus that played porn artfully dubbed over with Philips’ voice from various interviews through the years.” The smile in Mars’ voice turned into a full out cackle at this point. “It was a thing of beauty, Trev.”

Trevor gave a grunt of amusement. “That doesn’t sound like snapping. That sounds very well planned out.” He shook his head, giving a surprised chuckle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Did not see that coming.”

Mars sobered, “I think we all wrote him off without even giving him a chance. But, really, how does someone get over that kind of damage? Personally, I think Philips put his money on the wrong kid. Lance may have the looks and the charm, but he certainly never had the brains of the younger one. It’s a shame the kid had that damn birthmark.”

“Mmmm. Never stood a chance with a man that’s obsessed with ‘perfection.’ Not sure Philips really wants to share his power anyway. Lance is the perfect tool for his Father--smart enough to get things done but not so smart he’d be any kind of competition.”

“Yeah. Look, Lanie, Jimmy and I are all kinda laying low on this one. Philips is flipping out, of course. Michele is in super-bitch mode, though, I get the impression Momma might be a little amused by her son’s...er, statement. Our whole team’s in the clear, since they didn’t need any of us at the main residence this weekend, but Reece is gonna be under pressure to produce some results quickly. Heck, even Vance, who’s always playing like he’s completely objective, is refusing to step up for this one. Fortunately, the usual group of butt-lickers on the team are more than happy to take point on this. But, uh, with your past experience, you’re probably at the top of Reece’s list.” Trevor could hear the apology in Mars’ voice. No wonder he’d called to give him the heads up. This was definitely an assignment that would land squarely in Trevor’s lap. His forte was tracking and hunting targets.

Trevor sighed. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be...careful about…” he paused, his brain trying to sort through all his options to find one he could live with. He certainly didn’t want to have to bring the kid back but he couldn’t refuse the assignment or fail it without looking incredibly suspicious. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed again. “Dammit.”

“Look, Trev. Everybody liked Barty, but he could be, well, downright stupid when he got a bug up his ass about something. Nobody was really surprised when he got taken out over the kid. We were all just wondering what was actually gonna do it to him. You gotta figure out if it’s worth it, you know.” Mars paused a moment, “All I’m saying is, don’t be a Barty. Lanie and I got your back whatever you decide to do, no questions asked, just...be smart about it.”

“Thanks, Mars. Preciate it, man.”

After ending the call, Trevor considered giving Lanie his private number on the spot. He was fairly sure he’d end up needing her help before it was all said and done, but the company phone was ringing and Reece would have his ass if he kept him waiting any longer.

In the end, it didn’t matter. None of them managed to nail the kid down. The best tip he ever got over the course of a year left him both mildly amused and a bit confounded. He’d gotten word of a young man that might fit Brandon Philips’ description in the downtown area. When he first saw the target, he had no idea why someone would suggest him. The kid was about the right height and definitely the right build (i.e., scrawny as shit) but he couldn’t see the guy’s face because he had some weird BDSM looking mask on and he couldn’t see his hair because of the hood covering it. It would be an ingenious way to avoid the facial recognition software Philips had hooked into pretty much every camera he could gain access to. Both of those clothing choices obviously had Trevor’s tracking senses on full alert.

What had him almost immediately brush off the tip as a waste of time was the kid’s attitude. He was loud and belligerent, almost knocking someone on their ass when they accidentally bumped into him. Trevor found him a little intriguing but couldn’t really wrap his brain around the idea that this brash, aggressive individual had any connection to the frightened and damaged 13-year-old he’d been assigned to keep an eye on 6 years ago.

Trevor followed the young man for about half an hour, watching him do all sorts of nothing, for the most part, and wondering if he’d actually tattooed the smattering of crudely drawn images on his arms or just used a Sharpie. The kid spent part of his walk fiddling with something that Trevor couldn’t see, would periodically pause and play with his phone and, at one point, came to a full stop near some deli and appeared to be writing or drawing on the wall. When Trevor reached the wall a few minutes later, he found a poster of William Philips with “lies” written multiple times and a poop emoji coming out of his mouth. To top it off, the kid had drawn a headband on the man with a little spring popping out of the top holding up a remarkably detailed picture of a penis. And, if that wasn’t a clue…. The kid had surprised Trevor before when he’d stolen Philips’s data and run off. Maybe he was just full of surprises.

With a wry smile, Trevor looked up in time to see the young man turn the corner into an alley. He set off after him at a quick pace, reaching the alley a few moments later. Turning the corner, he was greeted with double birds that startled a laugh out of him as he watched the window cleaning lift carry what was almost definitely Brandon Philips out of his reach. For the final insult, Brandon gave him a mocking salute before easily vaulting over the side of the lift and disappearing across the roof.

He never told anyone he'd found the kid and didn’t see him again for another 9 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to place my ramblings at the end instead of making y'all read them up front. Sorry the prologue doesn't have much of our favorite hackers in it. I don't envision any other chapters that don't include at least one of the DedSec team for most of it.
> 
> On my first play through, I was convinced Wrench had a port wine stain birthmark. After re-watching that scene recently, I'm not so sure since part of it looks actually damaged. However, my story is essentially based on him having a birthmark so I'm sticking with that.
> 
> I debated putting Abstergo into this universe but after reading through the wiki for it, they're freaking insidious and I can't imagine DedSec focusing on anyone else if they actually existed in their universe. So I opted to go with the official Ubisoft comment that they aren't the same universe and created my own massive corporate group to play with.
> 
> I'm estimating 10 chapters total. That could change. Also, I suck at writing romance and sex so no promises on that front, either.
> 
> Two final things:  
> 1\. I absolutely refuse to believe the Wrench's real name is Reginald. Period.  
> 2\. I'm not convinced I'll be able to write any of our favorite character's here very well, so you're welcome to rant and rave (or just politely point things out) when you see me mangling them.  
> _______________________________________________________________________  
> ETA: I did some math today while working on this story and realized that my previous maths were wrong, so I've edited the story to reflect the proper years for stuff (i.e., it was 6 years between the time Trevor guarded Wrench when he was 13 and when he saw him in full gear after he'd run away; it would be 9 years before he sees him again). My age estimates are just mine since they haven't given us an official birth date, nationality, etc. I'm going with April 4, 1991.


	2. Step 1: Define the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First step in troubleshooting something is to define the problem. Is it the overpowered corporation capable of exploiting private data for their own use or the wayward son who stole corporate secrets from you and then had the audacity to remain in the city undetected under your nose for almost 10 years?

Marcus was convinced someone was pounding a spike through his head and not just because of the pain drilling through his brain. There was a hammering sound...a slow, heavy BANG! every few moments causing a sharp agonizing ache to reverberate through his skull.

Rolling over on the uncomfortable... _wait, where was he?_ He pried open his eyes, blinking groggily. Speaker, large screen tv, black and green…he must've fallen asleep on the couch at the hackerspace. He tried to swallow and flinched, groaning, as the pain in his throat vied for dominance over the throbbing in his head. The cough that shook him and rattled his chest set everything on fire and woke up aches the full length his body.

He remembered now feeling like ass when he arrived earlier, exhausted, chilled and achey all over. There was a meeting with everyone as they discussed their next plan of attack against Blume and ctOS 2 though he really couldn't recall anything they'd discussed. Then Josh asked if he was ok. _Sure, man, just really tired._ Ray said something about everyone taking care of themselves while they all stared at him and then the older man headed off for a beer. Then he'd laid down on the couch for a nap and that was that.

 _At least the pounding’s stopped_ , he thought gratefully. Feeling unbearably hot, he shoved the blanket off ( _where did that come from?_ ) and struggled to push himself into an upright position. His head swam as he finally managed to sit up fully, weaving a bit. He rubbed his hand down his face and forced his eyes open again but everything was blurry without his glasses, which suddenly appeared, floating in front of him. He took them with a mumbled _thank you_ and slid them on his face, blinking a few times to clear his vision.

His view was filled with a pair of black studded Converse and a sledgehammer. He slowly raised his eyes to find Wrench in front of him, leaning casually on the handle of his sledgehammer and watching Marcus carefully.

“You look like shit, man.”

“Thanks,” Marcus croaked and saw Wrench cringe at the sound.

A cup of water came floating into view from his left. He grabbed it with another whispered _thanks_ , glancing behind him to see Sitara hovering. The cool water felt good going down though swallowing was still painful as hell while the chills had set in again making him shiver. He felt the blanket settle around his shoulders and he grabbed onto it, snuggling it tightly around himself. He turned his attention back in front of him as he heard Wrench start speaking.

“Sorry, M. Didn't realize you were that sick or I wouldn't have…,” he gestured vaguely behind him where Marcus could make out some piece of equipment Wrench was apparently “fixing” with a sledgehammer.

“Told ya, you idiot.” Sitara gave Wrench a disapproving look before grabbing the water cup from Marcus to refill it. “You should lay down and rest some more. Wrench’ll be quiet. Or go away.” There was a threatening stare this time and Wrench just raised his hands in surrender, setting his sledgehammer in a corner.

“It's all good,” Marcus rasped before drinking the second glass of water and then curling up on the couch in a blanket cocoon, too tired to add anything else to his response. He felt someone gently slide his glasses off before he faded back into unconsciousness.

Sitara set the glasses back on the little table near the couch and gave Marcus a worried look before joining Ray and Wrench at the table.

“He pushed too hard. His body's tellin’ him to take a break,” Ray said, taking a swig from his near empty beer.

“He's going to be ok?” Wrench flashed a colon and S to express his worry.

“Eh, he'll be fine. Just has the flu or something. Needs rest.” Ray finished his beer and headed to the fridge for another.

“We'll keep working on our next step and bring him up to speed when he’s better.” Sitara said. “Meanwhile, _you_ can go to your garage or something so you don't wake him up again.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got some things I need to take care of anyway. I'll see you guys tomorrow.” Wrench headed up the stairs, pausing on the second step and turning back.

“Hey,” he waited for Sitara to look at him. “Let me know if he needs anything?” She gave him a little smile and slight nod. Satisfied, he turned and ran up the stairs.

* * *

 “I need this taken care of NOW!” After a brief pause that Brandt assumed was to give the person on the other end of the phone time to grovel properly, Philips slammed the receiver down before turning to his son sitting patiently in front of his desk.

The Philips were, undoubtedly, impressive looking. Father and son were both broad-shouldered, obviously in good physical shape, with handsome, friendly looking faces, square jaws and golden hair. Either one could easily have done some modeling for GQ and not looked out of place. Michele Philips was no less attractive, fitting the bill of “trophy wife” perfectly as far as looks and public personality. She had curves in all the right places, blonde hair that was almost platinum, and a delicate face. According to both Philips, neither had resorted to artificial means for their visual “perfection,” though Brandt knew otherwise. Michele had very definitely had some nose work done when she was a teenager--apparently her family features ran to large, hook noses.

However, looks aside, it was easy to understand why the Philips were as rich and successful as they were. Not only was William a formidable businessman, his wife was impressively skilled herself at running a large corporation and brought three businesses with her into the marriage, two of which made up close to half of the Philips’ empire.

Lance was almost a watered down version of his parents. While he was smart enough, he lacked decisiveness and a certain level of grittiness that his parents had. He made up for it with a ruthless streak that bordered on sadism, at times, taking pleasure in firing people and sneaking off to gamble on dog or cock fights when he could. Brandt expected William would probably make sure he had a strong advisor in place to actually run things when he was gone, with Lance as the figurehead. That was if Michele didn’t get involved and find some smart, ambitious woman for Lance to marry, instead.

Michele entered the room as William finished explaining what he needed from Lance and sent him on his way. Her heels made a tapping noise on the polished parquet floor as she crossed in front of William’s desk and settled in the wingback chair nearby, gracefully crossing her legs and resting her elegant hands along the arms of the chair. She looked regal and, in Brandt’s opinion, utterly deadly. Of the three Philips, she was by far the most dangerous because she was a master of manipulation. Most people would be mesmerized by her pretty tongue and not even realize those elegant fingers were preparing to stab them in the back. He’d watched her do it multiple times over the last 6 years, fascinated in how effortless she made it appear. When he’d first been hired, he was sure that Lance’s sadistic streak came from William but after a couple of years, he realized his mistake. Michele Philips didn’t just use manipulation to get what she wanted, she enjoyed leading people on, making them feel safe before landing the killing blow that would destroy their lives. Brandt made a note early on to avoid getting on her bad side.

The biggest surprise to him was the fact that she never used the same methods with Lance and very rarely with William. She genuinely cared for Lance, behaving like most protective mothers, supportive and encouraging. Brandt had the impression that she also felt some affection for William though he was fairly certain she wouldn’t hesitate to rip his heart out of his chest if he ended up proving to be a hindrance at some point.

Which brought him to the fourth member of the family. The younger son that no one spoke about. Until recently, he didn’t even know the man existed. There were no pictures, he wasn’t in any of the family portraits; it was like he had never been born. Apparently with DedSec exposing Blume for some very sketchy and illegal behavior, for which the company promptly threw their CTO to the wolves, William had once again become concerned about some data he’d had stolen 9 years previous. By none other than the mysterious younger son. William and Michele refused to give him any details about the young man himself. William gave him the barest description of what had happened, while Michele gleefully filled him in on the then 16-year-olds virus that he left behind when he stole the data. Brandt had been mildly impressed the kid had managed to put something like that together but wrote it off as an act of rebellion, figuring once he’d run away, the young man had probably moved onto other things, like surviving. Brandt tried getting additional physical details from some of the staff that had been there, but the only thing he could get them to talk about was the birthmark which was universally disliked in the household.

When William first approached him about tracking down his data, Brandt’s initial response was that it would be a colossal waste of time. The data would be obsolete at this point. Anyone who stole the data would assume it was useless by now--the son likely got rid of it years ago. But William was insistent, leading Brandt to the think that perhaps there was still information there that could cause his corporate group problems. So he set out to collect whatever he could find, even trying to dig up William’s old system to see if he could tease any information out of it. Unfortunately, it had been discarded years ago, the hard drives destroyed when the system had been upgraded. He had nothing to go on. Until the feelers he’d put out with various associates finally paid off with a rather interesting lead. A lead that had him standing in Philips office with both Michele and William, preparing to offer up information that would likely cause the man to burst a blood vessel or two.

“You should watch this,” he told them in his usual brusque manner, walking over to the desk to hand William the flash drive.

William gave Brandt a sharp look before sliding the usb into the port on his laptop and opening the file. It was a video, apparently pulled from the FBI, of an interrogation--one of the members of DedSec that they’d managed to get their hands on before the group brought Blume’s CTO down. They could see a clear view of two FBI agents, one of them obviously angry, practically yelling and waving his arms about dramatically. This was directed at a third person they could see from the back. It was hard to tell whether the hacker was male or female, though William was willing to bet male, based on the way the person was sitting, the clothes they were wearing, hood pulled up over the head, the large tennis shoes. The hacker was hunched over a bit and it was impossible to see where the person was looking. There was something about the person’s stance that seemed familiar and William found himself holding his breath waiting for the camera view to change so they could see the hacker’s face.

“It can’t be…” he whispered, watching the screen intently.

When the camera finally swung around to reveal Wrench’s face, William was ready to break something.

“Son of a BITCH!” William shoved his chair back, hearing it crash into the wall behind him as he stalked across the room to avoid throwing his laptop in a fit of rage.

The video had Michele’s rapt attention as she watched it play out to the end. She looked thoughtful as she followed up with, “Well, isn’t that something.” Her attention moved from the computer to her husband as he paced back toward the desk. She smirked at him, as a predatory look settled over her features.

“He’s been here the whole time, under your nose, wearing a mask and not one of your men could find him.” Brandt could practically hear William grinding his teeth from where he was standing.

The man stopped before reaching Michele and pulled out his cell, aggressively dialing someone.

“Reece! I need a tracker. Yes, I’m aware that you’ve never taken care of that problem and it’s been a month. Is that your way of telling me you don’t have anyone left who’s up for this sort of job? Because I’m sure I can find a new team if I have....” he paused while Reece answered. “Fortunately for you this isn’t someone with as much skill or experience as Trevor Grant so it really shouldn’t be a problem for you to find him. Of course, it shouldn’t have been a problem 10 years ago, either…,” another pause as Reece said something. “Yes, that’s exactly who I mean. Fine. I’ll have Brandt get with you. He has a lead for you,” William finished up, ending the call as he looked over at his head of cybersecurity who gave him a slight nod.

Michele was still watching her husband with that predatory gleam that almost made Brandt shiver.

“Between Brandt and Reece, we’ll find him,” William promised her.

“He’s part of DedSec. The group that gave Blume such a beating and put a huge dent in our business portfolio.” She was almost blatantly accusing him now.

“I’ll have Lance check around, as well. He has some...interesting contacts that might prove useful in this situation.” Husband and wife met up in the middle of the room, facing one another. “We’ll _find_ him. And then we’ll get the data from him, by _any_ means necessary.”

“You’d better, darling.” Michele all but purred. She reached up to fiddle with his tie. “If you think I'll hesitate in the slightest to throw you under the bus, think again.”

Brandt turned toward the exit and almost made it out of the room before the sounds of moaning filled his ears. He closed the door quietly and was fairly sure he heard the telephone and pen holder hit the floor before he made it down the hall toward his office.

This was proving to be a much more interesting assignment than he initially expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Thought of something--  
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading, for the kudos and the follow!
> 
> If you have any questions, thoughts, comments or critiques, please feel free to hit me up.
> 
> _________________________________  
> ETA: Realized I had another date typo on his age so I edited that.


	3. Step 2: Isolate the Cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second step is to isolate the cause. In this case, once the cause is determined, separate it from other supporting components.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wrench. There's cursing. Among other things. See notes at the end of the chapter.

The sun was bright and the breeze felt good as Wrench sped north towards Pacific Heights on a bike he'd appropriated for the day. It was a thrill having put such a major dent in Blume’s reputation but Wrench was under no illusion that it wouldn't take long for them to recover. DedSec really needed to figure out a second strike quickly if they wanted to keep their momentum up. Which is why he found himself heading to Pacific Heights, where he’d hid his father’s data almost 10 years ago.

He hadn't been back in almost a year, a few months before Marcus joined up with DedSec. Even before Marcus, his visits to the house had dropped dramatically as he got caught up in working with DedSec to further their agenda. He had his garage and the hackerspace to hang out at and a group of friends that actually welcomed him into their lives more than anyone else had before. 

Prior to DedSec, he'd spent a lot of time harassing a small local business and a few individuals affiliated with his father's conglomerate. It was sort of like shooting an elephant with a NERF gun. While he'd managed to get the business to shut down, it had taken several years. A number of times he got so frustrated and disheartened, he almost gave up. Plus, the loss had next to no impact on Philips’ empire. Which was Wrench's wake up call.

He'd scoped out a few different hacker groups but after what happened in Chicago three years ago, DedSec made the top of the list for him. They obviously got shit done and he was all about GSD. So he started showing up at the hackerspaces, enthusiastically joining in on missions and building whatever shit he could with the parts he had until he’d convinced them to get a 3D printer. Sitara welcomed him with a threat. Josh took him in stride, mostly avoiding him at first because he was “too loud.” And Horatio watched him suspiciously until he'd run a mission that went south when it turned out the CFO they were harassing over some sketchy business practices was a sick fuck. Wrench showed up at the same time the Auntie Shu Boys were making their “delivery” and refused to let it go against most everyone’s recommendations since one hacker against five Auntie Shu, seven security guards and a high chance for reinforcements was terrible odds.  Wrench wasn’t the subtle type, of course, so multiple small explosions and a fuckton of property damage later, he’d finally managed to extract the girl and send her on her way, using himself as a decoy to draw the gang reinforcements as far away from her as possible. He limped away with a sprained ankle and Horatio fully welcoming him as a “crazy ass fucker” while Sitara reamed him for being a complete idiot as she forced him to put his foot up and got him a beer.

Unfortunately, the local DedSec group wasn't as productive as the one in Chicago, spending more time “building a brand” (Sitara’s words) over actively pursuing targets. But he found something he wasn't expecting: acceptance. And once Marcus had joined, they really started to see things move. 

Funny thing was, as much as he hated Blume on general principle and knew that his father had some connection with the company, it hadn’t really occurred to him to check his dad’s old data for anything on the technical giant so the dwindling number of visits he spent in Pacific Heights before Marcus came into the picture found him looking through the information randomly and not really finding anything terribly useful. After Marcus planted that back door at Blume, things moved really quickly with their campaign against the company. He barely had time to think about much of anything but what they were working on at the time. 

With a little time to breathe now, Wrench was wondering what he might be able to dig up in those old files. He’d originally used his dad’s data to help him hack into and bring down that local business but after hooking up with DedSec and, more specifically, finding a place with Sitara, Horatio and Josh, he’d found himself less focused on his past and more interested in what he could do with his friends. Now he was hoping that combing through the information again might pull up some additional dirt on Blume or even something on his dad that might fit with DedSec’s agenda.

He arrived at his childhood home a few minutes later, hopping off his bike and grabbing the bag of Chinese food he’d picked up on the way. The next moment found him standing in the drive staring up at the surprisingly modest two-story, feeling the usual mix of trepidation and defiance that hit him whenever he came back, even after so many years on his own. He stared at the house for another minute before tossing his laptop bag over his shoulder, jutting his chin out and walking to the door like he owned the place.

When he’d first run away almost 10 years ago, he’d avoided Pacific Heights completely. He was afraid of what would happen if his family found him and he hated everything about the place, everything it reminded him of, so he’d stayed away. Five years later found him out here again on a whim, which is when he’d learned that his childhood home was empty and his family living somewhere else. Later, he’d made some quiet inquiries and found out they’d moved to a larger property in the Woodlands.

The house in Pacific Heights had been closed up, furniture covered, and though the alarms were left on, no one came back over that 10 year period. Wrench had debated numerous times with himself about why they hadn't sold the place and finally decided his family was so obscenely wealthy that having an extra empty house sitting around wasn’t even a blip on their radar. It pissed him off when he thought about it. So, he’d made sure to get somewhat regular use out of the place, leaving a stash of beer and snacks, using his parents giant jacuzzi tub, watching the big screen tv, and crashing out on the couch or the bed in his room. And, of course, he’d hidden his father’s data at the house, like a giant middle finger to them. It wasn’t home for him and he didn’t think it ever could be, but it was a good place for a change of scenery and to search through his father’s data in private to see what he could discover.

At this point in time, however, he really wasn’t convinced there would be much that was still relevant. It  _ had  _ been 10 years. But even a little something that might give them a lead to follow would be better than spinning their wheels or just sitting around planning all the time. For the first time, he was considering the possibility of bringing the data back to the hackerspace to see if Josh could tease anything out of it. Wrench had done everything he could, so far, to keep his old life completely separate from his current one but if it could provide them some kind of edge, it might be worth it. And he figured he could just hand it over without getting into details about where it came from.

He entered the house and dropped the bag of Chinese on the side table while he punched a few buttons on the alarm system. When he’d originally decided to use his childhood home as his own personal hotel, he’d set up this sneaky little virus in the alarm system that, when triggered, would delete all data at the security center regarding the house being accessed by anyone and make it look like there had been a brief glitch. Five years later and it still worked like a charm.

Locking the door, he grabbed the Chinese food and turned to head toward the living room. His grand plan for the evening? Take his mask off, grab a beer, watch something with lots of action and explosions and eat before he dug out dad’s data. He took a step into the living room and froze, hearing a noise he couldn’t account for, something that shouldn’t be there. He backed out of the room, quietly setting everything along the wall and grabbed the sledgehammer he always kept here. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walked through the living room toward the kitchen where he thought the noise originated.

As he stepped through the kitchen door and paused he immediately found the source, a person standing at the counter facing away from the doorway. It took a moment for it to register--pale gold hair, broad shoulders, muscled arms all wrapped in expensive business casual clothing and a $1000 pair of Italian leather boots. Lance turned and saw him, giving his brother a wicked grin with a “Hey, baby bro.” Wrench’s mask flashed double exclamations but he didn’t give Lance the chance to say anything else. Flinging the sledgehammer at his brother, he turned and ran for the door, vaulting over the couch on his way through the living room.

Wrench heard a crash from the sledgehammer then a singsong “You missed!” from his brother followed by the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. Rounding the corner into the entryway, he skidded to a halt in front the door fumbling at the lock before he’d fully stopped, desperately trying to get the door open before his brother got to him. Just as he’d managed to grasp the deadbolt and start turning it, his brother crashed into him from behind, slamming him fully into the door and knocking the breath out of him. He shoved back as hard as he could, feeling like he was backing into a brick wall and then slammed his head back, grazing his brother in the chin as Lance realized what he was doing and threw his own head back to avoid the full hit. Wrench instinctively turned, trying to dodge around his brother but found both of them spinning on the slick, wood floor knocking over the side table and scattering Wrench’s things as Lance grabbed his arm and tried to twist it up behind his back. Wrench let the momentum carry him around and slammed his fist into Lance’s head while simultaneously pulling on his arm to free it. His brother wouldn’t let go, though, giving the arm a yank to pull Wrench back within striking range. He gave a hard tug in opposition, hearing a sickening sounding pop just as he pulled free.

The pain from his newly dislocated shoulder caught up with him an instant later, taking what was left of his breath from him. He backpedaled, hazily thinking of the back door, but his foot hit the rug in the hallway and he came crashing down on his back. He shouted “FUCK!” as the fall jarred his shoulder and then immediately twisted onto his stomach, pedaling with his feet and pulling with his good arm to get himself up and away from this brother. He half crawled, half threw himself toward the stairs, grabbing the railing with his hand as his brother reached him. Leaning down to grab both his ankles and drag him back to the living room, Lance gave one good tug and the railing slipped from his hand leaving him flailing for anything he could hang onto to stop the backward progression, kicking and bucking in an attempt to break free. Halfway into the living room, Lance jerked roughly on his ankles before letting go, making him slide a couple of inches along the floor. Before he even had the chance to get his knees under him, his brother landed heavily on his back, pinning him to the floor with his knee and shoving his hand into Wrench’s dislocated shoulder, ripping a strangled scream from him. Lance followed up by grabbing Wrench’s hoodie and hair and bouncing his head off the floor several times to leave him dazed and moaning in pain.

Wrench must’ve passed out for a moment. The throbbing in his shoulder brought him back to consciousness but he couldn’t remember what he should be doing. He just had this sense of urgency that he needed move. Now. He guessed he’d pissed dad off again cause he felt like he’d been hit with a freight train. This was when he should be making himself scarce before his dad decided he needed another beat-down. Stirring, he tried to move into a better position to push himself up. He could hear noise behind him, something thumping and someone speaking. His brother, maybe? His brother! The present came crashing back in. Alarm shot through him, the adrenaline giving him enough energy to push himself onto his knees with his good arm but the movement made the pain in his dislocated shoulder spike again, causing the room to spin and bringing him close to retching. He blinked through the nausea, swaying dizzily. Was that his mask on the floor? Before he could clear his head, someone grabbed his hair roughly and dragged him backwards, throwing him onto a hard chair. He bit back a cry as his shoulder was jarred again. A moment later he was screaming in agony when Lance wrenched his arms behind his back to tie his hands to one of the upper rungs of the chair back. The position left him gasping and squirming in pain from the pressure on his shoulder.

“Somebody’s been a baaaad boy. Ten years bad. And dad is pissed, Brandy.” His brother, who was seated on the arm of the couch examining his mask, looked up at him with a smug smile that quickly turned cruel. Wrench stared at his mask, not meeting his brother’s eyes, breathing heavily and unconsciously shaking his leg in an effort to control the pain.

Lance waved the mask in front of Wrench. “Nifty toy. Tough. Trying to keep people from seeing that face of yours, huh?” Standing, he tossed the mask to the side watching Wrench’s eyes track it as he stepped closer to the chair. He leaned down, placing a hand on each arm of the chair and moved his head around trying to catch Wrench’s eyes.

“No? Baby brother? Still the same pathetic loser under all that gear, aren’t you?” He pitched his voice higher, “ _ No! Please stop! I promise I won’t do it again… _ .Whaa-whaa.” Wrench turned his face away, pulling back from his brother and watching him from the corner of his eyes.

“Nothing,  _ Brandy _ ?”

He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment at that fucking nickname and then bit out, “You might want to consider brushing your teeth, dickhead. Your breath smells fucking  _ rank _ .”

A look of fury crossed Lance’s face briefly before he turned it into another cruel smile as he placed his hand on Wrench’s neck, kneading it roughly. He leaned in close.

“Dad wants his data back,” Lance said quietly. “But, do me a favor, little brother. Hold out as long as you can. It’ll be more fun that way.” 

For a moment, the only sounds were Wrench’s harsh breathing and the tapping of his heel. Then Lance stood up and with one swift motion pulled the hacker forward, forcing his head down almost to his knees and tearing another agonized scream from him as the barely endurable ache in his shoulder turned excruciating. Lance held him in that position until he started retching, vaguely thankful he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday so he didn't end up with puke running down his legs. 

The pressure let up at some point in the middle of his dry heaving and he pushed himself upright as soon as he realized he could, tears streaming down his face and breath coming in gasps. His foot started up immediately again, not that he noticed. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at this brother directly so he focused on his mask lying near the wall and tried to figure out how he was going to get himself out of this fucking mess. His brother had left the room and was in the kitchen talking and apparently searching for something based on the banging he could hear of cabinets and drawers.

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere. He’s secure.” A pause. Lance must be on the phone, of course. Another cabinet slammed closed. “Nah, I don’t think they actually know about this place. He has fucked it up a good bit though. Remember that Rosetti mom has in your sitting room? He drew on it with a fucking Sharpie.” Wrench’s lip twisted into a sneer that turned into a grimace as he shifted, trying to take pressure off his shoulder without any luck.

Lance walked into the room, still on the phone, tossing a roll of duct tape in the air. “Yep. My  _ pleasure _ . I’ll see you in the morning.”  _ DedSec was out. They didn’t know anything about this place. Though they could find him with the gps on his phone, but how long did they have before he was dead or relocated? _

Lance walked around the chair to stand in front of Wrench. He paused for a moment with his hand at his chin as if he were contemplating something. Wrench stared at the duct tape in his other hand and ruled out texting anyone, especially while his brother was so...attentive.  _ Heck, if he could just get to his phone or laptop, he could fuck some shit up. _

“So, this is the part where I pretend to try and get information out of you. And the part where you pretend like you’re not going to tell us anything.” His brother paced in front him and he watched the duct tape cross back and forth with Lance.  _ People were getting off work, coming home. If he could get his brother pissed off enough, Lance would probably go after him and forget about the duct tape. And maybe the noise would alert a neighbor. _

“Problem is, since it’s evening everyone’s coming home and we can’t be too noisy here.” Lance held up the roll of tape, shaking it.

“Dad doesn’t keep you around for your brains, does he? Can’t get any answers out of me if I can’t talk, douchebag.” Lance’s eyes narrowed briefly at the insult and then his face shifted into an almost gleeful look.

“Thing is, I really,  _ really  _ don’t care if you tell us anything. You obviously haven’t found anything in there worth shit or you would’ve used it, so I don’t think it matters. I’m just here for the questioning.”  _ Fuck _ _! _ _ He needed to come up with something fast... _

“Lance, you…” he was interrupted by his brother placing tape over his mouth and wrapping it around his head a couple of times. Wrench risked looking in his brother's eyes as the man straightened up, tossing the roll of tape aside. He regretted it instantly, giving a full shudder at the look of anticipation he found there. 

It was going to be long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should've mentioned the fact that I tend to torture the crap out of my favorite characters before giving them a happy ending. This is where you should start heeding the story warnings in case you were ignoring them before. There's likely to be a good bit of violence from here on out in most chapters and possibly a sex scene before it's all over.
> 
> This took a lot longer than I'd planned but I got side-tracked writing some background to this scene that I may or may not post later and with RL.


	4. Step 3: Test the Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is a self-serving dick; Wrench's THINGS NOT TO DO list; and the OC comes on the scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for taking so long on this update. *mumbles things about real life sucking* Started writing this and then I realized my carefully planned storyline has a few major missing elements. So, I've been working on revising that. Also, almost completed a side-chapter that I'll probably publish separately, though it's also part of this universe. And got partway through the next chapter so it shouldn't take a couple of months to post. *insert quiet "yay!" here*

Lance awoke to the annoying beep of his smartphone alarm letting him know his six hours was up. Rolling off the luxurious, king-size bed onto the floor, he did a quick 25 pushups before hopping up and dismissing the alarm, releasing a breath at the blessed silence that followed. His morning routine usually included doing pull-ups or Lily, when she was around. Neither was an option today--no pull-up bar and Lilly was in Atlanta this week, unfortunately.

As he prepared for a shower, he idly wondered if she would have enjoyed last night as much as he did? She had enough kink in her to let him indulge a bit of his sadistic side on a regular basis but he wasn't sure if she enjoyed inflicting pain, as well. She'd never seemed interested in that, allowing him instead to indulge his need for control and some level of violence but he'd never been able to go as far as he had last night. Not that he'd want to with Lilly. With her auburn hair and flawless, cream-colored skin...just thinking about her writhing under him, coupled with images of last night dancing around his head, was enough to turn his morning wood into a raging hard-on. Definitely something he would have to take care of before Dad arrived.

Twenty-five minutes later found him standing in front of his dad's dresser, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, feeling equal parts buzzed and satiated and debating whether he should bother putting his watch on. Even the "casual" Piaget he currently had with him was close to $10K and he had no interest in damaging it. He reluctantly slipped it into his overnight bag and headed through his parent's sitting room and down the hall to the kitchen to put on some coffee, provided he could find some in the house. He hoped his brother wasn't a complete heathen because he wasn't going to have time to run out for a cup before Dad arrived.

Searching through the cabinets in the kitchen turned up nothing but a few almost empty bottles of some nasty-ass cheap liquor. Pantry had a half-full box of ramen noodle packages. Drawers had nada, as well. Lance finally hit paydirt in the freezer where he found a can of coffee and set to making himself some, missing his Keurig. Or a Starbucks. As the smell of dark roast filled the kitchen, he leaned up against the door jamb to the living room, crossing his arms and staring at his little brother, still unconscious and tied to the chair, back facing him. Sunlight streamed in through the partially open curtains on the picture window that faced the street and highlighted the gold in Brandon's hair. There was a time, when they were a lot younger, that he felt sorry for the kid. To be stuck with that birthmark on his face had to be tough. Especially with someone like William Philips for your father. Dad demanded perfection and didn't accept excuses. He was definitely a hard man to please. Fortunately for Lance, his mom adored him and she pretty much had Dad's balls in a vise grip. And any sympathy he had for Brandon disappeared when the little shit had hacked his dad's info and taken off. Lance liked being rich and powerful and he sure as hell didn't want to lose everything because his idiot brother had some bug up his ass about how ugly he ended up looking...or whatever it was that had turned him into this mask-wearing freak.

Didn't help that the little douchenozzle had completely trashed his old bedroom. Lance had ended up having to stay the night in his parent's room since apparently his brother had gone on a rampage and destroyed all of his things leaving wood, glass, plastic and torn posters littering the floor. All his trophies and awards were in pieces except for the football trophy stuck in the wall. His parents' suite had been desecrated in a different way--crude and obscene images drawn all over the priceless paintings; antiques and figurines painted badly and positioned in offensive ways. It left Lance shaking his head in disgust. He'd originally finished "questioning" his brother around 1 am but after seeing his bedroom, he'd come up with all sorts of new things to "ask" involving generous use of the cord from his old stereo that Brandy had destroyed and a curling iron he'd found tucked in the back of the cabinet in his mom's dressing room. It was a shame about the gag. Lance was sure the little faggot was finally gonna start begging around 2 am but he couldn't risk the neighbors hearing and coming to check so he left the tape in place. Too many questions and Dad wanted this kept low-key which meant they'd probably be moving Brandon sometime this morning.

Lance turned back into the kitchen and busied himself preparing his coffee while mentally running through the logistics for transporting his brother to a more private location.

* * *

When he first came to, he really didn't want to open his eyes. Not just because he didn't have the energy, though God knew he was exhausted and every muscle in his body ached. His head was throbbing, his shoulder was on fire and his throat hurt from screaming. Gagged or not, his brother had found a multitude of ways to cause agony that had Wrench straining his voice. But no begging. Wrench wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not to mention, the fucking duct tape appeared to be industrial strength shit so there was no way he'd be working it off his mouth any time soon.

But opening his eyes was currently near the top of his THINGS NOT TO DO list. Yes, contrary to popular belief, there were actually a few things that Wrench wouldn't do. Granted, many of those items didn't make the list until he'd tried them at least once. For instance, number 10 was _Hook up with ANYONE after mixing too much booze and recreational drugs_. Okay, so that one took him 2 tries and one aborted trip to Las Vegas that almost ended in marriage or...a duel of some sort? He was kind of fuzzy on the details though he distinctly remembered a cathedral-like chapel and being chased by some knights with swords.

Then there was _Piss Sitara off_. That one came in at number 5 about six seconds after he met her. Seriously, the ice cold look she could give a guy would make his balls shrivel up so far that he'd have to reach the 9th level of hell before they'd drop again.

Steady at number 3 was _Let anyone screw with his family_ . And he wasn't talking about the fucknuggets that he shared DNA with, either. His _real_ family, DedSec. Specifically, Sitara, Josh, Marcus and, heck, he'd even throw T-Bone into the mix at this point, though he was still kinda pissed at the guy about Wrench, Jr.

He tried not to think about the 4th item on his list too often but it held it's spot solidly after showing up there about a year ago. _Fall for Marcus_ wasn't going anywhere anytime soon for 2 reasons.

1\. Wrench was pretty sure Marcus was straight. Like, very straight. The guy always eyeballed the ladies and invariably went home with one when he picked someone up. Wrench personally didn't care about gender. If he liked someone, he liked 'em whether they were male or female.

B. And, more importantly, the second part of rule 4 was _See number 3_ . Sure, Wrench might tease Josh mercilessly but it was all in fun. He might fight with T-Bone, harass Marcus and do everything he could to irritate Sitara (just to see how far he could go before she reached number 5 levels of _pissed off_ ). But he would never hurt them deliberately and it was almost ordained that Marcus would get hurt if he and Wrench ever...not that Marcus would be interested in that anyway, so number 4 held it's place.

Numbers 1 and 2 varied, depending on his immediate circumstances. Presently, first on the list was _Die_ . Not that it usually ranked that high because he didn't really care a whole lot about that. It wasn't like he was gonna leave some huge hole in the world when he was gone--well not from his lack of presence, anyway. If he could cause a Philly-sized explosion to commemorate his passing, that would be epic. So, yeah, _die_ tended to fall closer to the bottom of the list normally. Driving faster, bigger explosions, larger fires...lots of things usually trumped dying on the list. But he absofuckinglutely refused to die at the hands of his family.

And, at the moment, _Open your eyes_ was holding the 2nd spot. Not, as he noted before, because he was exhausted. Not even because last time he'd opened his eyes after passing out for a bit, he'd sat there watching blood drip steadily onto his lap, soaking the front of his jeans. Who knew that being tased repeatedly would apparently cause part of your brain to implode and drip out of your nose?

No, _open your eyes_ was on the list because he knew that once he did, it would be real. He wouldn't be able to pretend anymore that it was some PTSD-induced nightmare like one of the many similar nightmares he'd had over the years. Once the blood, cuts, bruises and burn marks came into sharp focus, he wouldn't be able to make himself believe he was crashed out on his cot at the garage, snoozing on the couch at the hackerspace, or even upstairs in his old bed curled around his laptop, sleeping fitfully. Plus, he figured playing possum for a bit might buy him some time to try and come up with some sort of plan so Wrench kept his head down and tried to keep his breathing even and body as relaxed looking as possible even though every nerve ending was screaming at him because his fuckwit of a brother had grown even more sadistic since their childhood.

At first, he just listened to Lance as he moved around the kitchen, using up _his_ coffee, fucking buttmunch. It didn't help that Wrench was now craving the stuff, made more desperate by the smell and the knowledge he wasn't getting any of that sweet nectar anytime soon. Top all of that off with the sudden realization that he was flat-out starving because he hadn't eaten anything since the night before last and it all left him feeling miserable, seriously pissed off and, if he were honest with himself, a good bit scared, as well. He wasn't seeing a way out of this and if just one night with Lance, the Psychopathic Cockmuppet left him like this, he shuddered to think what the next day would be like...or the one after that. No, he definitely needed to get the fuck out of this sooner rather than later.

He knew from the phone call Lance made last night that dad was coming in today. Unlike Lance, Billy was going to want some answers which meant the duct tape was coming off so they were going to have to move him out of the peaceful, upscale neighborhood to some place that would provide more privacy or soundproofing. That was probably his best chance--the move between here and wherever.

If he missed that opportunity, he wasn't sure he'd be walking away from this one at all but he was damn sure going to figure how to destroy as much shit as possible in the process. _Go quietly_ had been a permanent fixture on his THINGS NOT TO DO LIST since he'd started it.

* * *

Several blocks east, Marie stepped out of the donut shop into the bright morning sun and paused a moment, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the sky. Taking a deep breath, she reveled in the feeling of freedom. An irritated huff and "Excuse me" from behind startled her and she stepped to the side with a mumbled apology as the man walked by muttering something about dumbasses.

Standing in the middle of a busy doorway on a public street is a great way to go unnoticed, she thought to herself wryly, shaking her head. Trevor was probably going to kill her already for wandering so far from the house they were staying but it had been four long months since she'd just walked in the sunlight, free to go where she pleased so he'd just have to be mad. She hunched her shoulders a bit, burying her hands in her jacket pockets and headed up the street towards the pretty neighborhood to the west. It was very affluent looking, one of the neighborhoods she hadn't seen yet since moving to San Francisco last fall when she'd started grad school.

She'd grown up in SmallTown, USA. Normal family, normal life. Everything revolved around high school football and church. It wasn't bad. She'd had a happy enough childhood, plenty of friends, and was successful in school. But she was bored before she'd ever graduated from high school. Mostly because her interests didn't really suit their small town lifestyle. Marie wasn't interested in being the wife and mom like her mother and grandmother. She didn't want to be stuck working at some local business in a dead-end job or trying to teach science in a community that valued sports over everything else.

Her real love was biology. Well, biotechnology, actually. Her interest in it had developed over a couple of years after her younger brother Jake lost his lower leg in a car accident at the age of 12. She'd watched him struggle for a long time after that. Not just with learning how to live minus a leg but to be accepted again in school, even in town. People can be cruel, even small town folks you've known most of your life. Fortunately for her brother, his friends had readily accepted him, missing limb and all, even if other people they'd known forever didn't.

Marie couldn't say the same about her first boyfriend but breaking up with Randy had opened the way for Tom and Tom had been amazing. He'd been both supportive and friendly to her younger brother, treated her like a princess and even got along with her parents. The topper to it all was that he'd loved how smart she was. He was no slouch himself--captain of the football team, good looking and still did well in school but he never seemed to mind that she was smarter than he was. The guy was every girl's dream.

Except hers, not that she understood that at the time. She'd been 15 and a science whiz when they first started dating. Tom would just sit and listen to her babbling on about cybernetics and nanotech for hours. She'd initially focused on rehabilitation physiotherapy but became more fascinated with the idea of nanotechnology after her grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She had grand dreams of helping find a way to use nanotech for both amputees and degenerative mental illnesses like Dementia. Tom encouraged her to pursue her interests. He dated her throughout high school and, even though he probably knew pretty early on that she wasn't going to be happy remaining a hometown girl and he wasn't going to be happy leaving, he stuck it out through most of college and never tried to discourage her from pursuing her dreams.

And then, during her final undergrad year while she was preparing to make a definite decision on which grad school to go to, Tom had broken up with her. She wanted to be mad at him, to hate him for leaving her and have any reason you could think of to make it his fault, but she couldn't. Truth was, he did everything right. He never cheated on her or saw anyone else while she was at university in the city and he was at the community college back home. He never ignored her or failed to visit with her, check on her family, send her gifts for all the appropriate holidays and anniversaries. And when he broke up with her, it wasn't just a text or even a phone call. He drove out to university, took her to a nice dinner and sat and talked with her, logically and maturely. Heck, he didn't even start dating someone else back home immediately after breaking up with her.

She realized later, when she got settled in at USFCA, that he was perfect and that was precisely what the problem was. Not that she felt she was undeserving...except maybe just a little. She didn't have any lingering self-doubt about what she wanted to do with her life or her abilities and intelligence. But, she'd watched Tom spend hours of his time just hanging out with her brother, making him feel normal. She'd seen him hold a conversation with her grandmother while the confused woman called him Little Frankie and talked to him like he was her son who had died in Afghanistan. He volunteered for just about every charity event that came up, never seemed to get angry about anything. Truth was, in her mind, he was somewhere around the level of a demigod and who actually wants to be married to that? So she chose the University of San Francisco for grad school and moved halfway across the country, Skyping with her parents and brother to keep in touch with them and throwing herself into her studies. Which was how she ended up here.

And where was here, anyway? She looked around, shaking off the memories that, honestly, had been nice to sink into so she could avoid thinking about the hell that was her last 4 months. Occasional images of scary looking medical devices and faces covered with surgical masks looming over her intruded on her dreams and sometimes flashed behind her eyes in the middle of the day. Thinking about her ex was a relief right now.

Glancing back at the street sign she just passed, told her she'd just crossed Octavia Street and was heading deeper into the obviously expensive residential area. Even though a lot of the homes were row houses, she bet they were all upwards of $1 million or more. Marie idly considered whether she'd enjoy living in something like a row house. They were all pretty, in her opinion, and the bay windows were to-die-for but she got the feeling they might be a bit stifling.

Speaking of pretty windows, a lovely house up ahead with light yellow trim and a huge picture window in the front caught her eye. The curtains were partially opened and she couldn't resist trying to see inside as she came up alongside the house, wondering what it would be like to grow up in a house like that. Their house back home had been a small ranch-style home. Single-story, sprawling wide and sat on a half-acre.

Marie's eyes widened as she suddenly made out what was sitting behind that pretty façade. There was a man on a kitchen chair who looked unconscious, hands behind the chair in what had to be an uncomfortable position. Her steps slowed as her eyes travelled down and she gave a gasp when she saw bare feet with the ankles zip-tied to the chair legs. She glanced around as if looking for someone to verify what she was seeing but there wasn't anyone nearby. Most people had probably headed off to work by now so, except for a couple of people half a block down heading away from her, the street was pretty quiet. _There has to be a rational explanation for this_ . Marie looked back toward the window, unconsciously starting across the yard to get a better look. _Maybe he was practicing a scene in a play or something. This is California--that's what people do here, right?_

Unconsciously noting the black van parked in the driveway, she moved closer to the window, trying to see more through the partially open curtain. Everything about the room screamed luxury. Expensive furniture, expensive decor, expensive rug. Even the chair the guy was sitting on looked fancy for a kitchen chair. _One step closer._ Her roaming eyes started taking in the incongruities. There was a pretty end table tipped on its side with a broken leg and smashed lamp next to the suede couch, some broken dish on the floor in front of a console table along the wall. A black lump of something she couldn't identify to the side of the console. A black jacket or hoodie, with metallic dots or studs gleaming across part of it, haphazardly tossed across the coffee table. _Another step closer._ And there was the man himself, tied to the chair, probably the most out of place thing in the picture. He was wearing stained, torn jeans but no shirt and had a number of tattoos scattered across what she could see of torso. Definitely didn't seem to belong in that neighborhood, let alone the very pricey looking home. _One more step._ She realized there was duct tape wrapped around his head, discolored down the front with some dark substance. She noted splatters of the same dark substance ( _couldn't be blood, right?_ ) on his pants. _One last step that brought her to the window._ She scanned the room looking for anyone else before looking back at the man on the chair. What had looked like blotchy skin from further back resolved itself into angry red welts, burn marks and she couldn't tell what all. His face looked like it had a large bruise or mark over the left eye.

Her stomach did a flip and she swallowed hard. _This can't be real_. It looked like the scene from a movie but not the kind that should be played out in the middle of a living room in an upscale neighborhood in San Francisco. She chewed on her bottom lip unconsciously, considering and discarding scenarios rather quickly. 911 was out. She couldn't risk being found. Trevor had told her the people who'd been holding her very likely had contacts in SFPD so she was to avoid any police, military or security guards at all costs. If these were actors practicing (there'd have to be more than one), she'd embarrass herself but they might all get a laugh out of it and she'd at least know it wasn't real. If they were into, you know, kinky stuff, she'd be mortified. But again, it'd probably be worth it to make sure that was the case.

She could...probably _should_...call Trevor but, if it were real, the time it would take him to get here could be the difference between helping this person escape and...well, she didn't know what. His death? Maybe. Certainly he'd be hurt more and perhaps they were planning moving him somewhere else, though it seemed odd to do this in the morning rather than at night. She looked over at the black van, actually paying attention this time. It had been backed into the driveway and there was a door to the house directly behind it. She leaned over a little and noted that there was no license plate which set her heart to racing. That definitely didn't seem to point to possibilities one or two.

Her hesitation only lasted another moment, wavering between being smart or being brave but stupid. All it took was a flash in her mind of being strapped to a hospital bed in a sterilized room with a silver tray of scary-looking surgical tools stationed next to it...two people walking in fully kitted out as surgeons...a third man with cold eyes, also wearing a surgical mask leaning over her with a gas mask.... She shook her head and turned toward the door. The idea that anyone else would have to deal with something like that when she could do something to help wasn't even worth considering.

Trevor could kill her later. As long as she survived this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I got nothing. Oh, actually--I've never had a dislocated shoulder (hopefully never will) but based on what I've read, you'll just have to suspend disbelief that Wrench can go as long as he does with one. I'm totally cheating since it would likely do some major nerve damage for as rough as I've treated it and as long as I'm going to let it go on. Sssh...it's fiction.


End file.
